He never canceled the paper when he left town. Something magical about coming home to a knee-high pile of paper. Get your kicks where you can. Hard copy you can actually hold in your hand and turn, page by page, maybe clip something out.
The old man was tan, rested and ready after six nights and seven days of Tropical Tranquility in the best hotel on the island. Needed to be in tip-top shape to read about a week in this grimy country in this God-forsaken world. Catching up on that much news like bobbing for apples in a bucket of poop.
What the hell is wrong with you people?
This from a guy who could spend eight to ten hours a day staring at the deep blue sea hoping to see a dolphin jump. Just a black wet shiny fin enough. Or was that a wave.
Why are there no Kenyans in the UFC? And what’s The Woman Card?
Dr. E.C. Frederick checks my vital signs after marathon PR
***
Walking helps everything, the old man believed. Even with the pain. Hell, if you are going to hurt all the time, might as well get some benefit out of it. Getting Mike Manley lean.
Last weekend he had consumed two gallons of Triple Chocolate With Extra Nuts And Fudge Swirls ice cream topped with a smattering of chopped walnuts. Quart of spinach & artichoke dip. Managed to bulk up a couple of pounds.
Epiphany!! Once he realized he could claim he was running, ’cause nobody was watching. No one had a stopwatch, as the old man covered unknown distances in random times. If you people can cover 26.2 miles in six and a half hours and call yourselves marathoners, then I am a runner.
The old man came to this realization when he working to get up a hill, pushing, using his arms. Except for speed, felt the same. We kid ourselves every day, right?
Guy next door is in his eighties. A cancer survivor fifteen years ago. Well, it’s back. The chemo baldness, heads to the mail box without a hat, looking like Telly Savalas. Man’s an inspiration.
Humpback lady down the street planting trees by herself. In between cigarette breaks. Her, too.
He put his weights next to his recliner, might be more likely to make an effort. Still couldn’t see himself using them. Maybe when he was older.
***
Boston Billy coming to town for the Gasparilla Distance Classic. Joanie and Meb, too. See you there, Rodgers said.
Probably not.
The old man never thought about racing. Never thought about those days of competition. Maybe if he had ever won a single race.
What he thought about were headwinds on a loop around the Danbury airport. Bush Park. Lake Mary Meadows. Terwilliger & Leif Erickson. Pre’s Trail.
He could still recall the smells of breakfast – bacon and eggs – wafting through chill air of a Flagstaff neighborhood.
The conversations. The explorations. The discoveries. But not really that either.
Miss the guys. But not really that either.
Miss the motion. Air moving past. You moving fast. Miss that.
Walking as fast as I can. That will just have to do.